The storm that never ends
by TheWowsheep
Summary: Alduin the World-Eater is defeated and Skyrim has a new High King. A now independent provence yearns for peace. But trouble is still brewing, and the storm never seems to end.
It snowed heavily on the coronation of the new High King of Skyrim.

The wind smashed against the big hall of the Palace of the Kings which was filled with the now independent provence's finest citizens, sitting at the long tables that had been placed there just for this special occasion. They had come from all different winds to witness the ceremony today. The buzz of chatter could be heard throughout the hall as everybody present enjoyed the feast and the mead.

Ulfric Stormcloack observed the people that were now his subjects from the high table that was placed in front of his throne. The Jagged Crown sat firmly on his head, being placed there just an hour ago by a priestess of Talos, whom he believed came from Riften. The eight Jarls and his friends that sat on either side of him were eating ravenously, laughing and drinking like there was no tomorrow.

Ulfric's mind was on other things than feasting. His thoughts travelled over the last four months, from the end of the civil war to the moot that had taken place little over a week ago. He had thought his life would have been more quiet and secure after the Battle of Solitude and the killing of General Tullius, but driving the rest of the Empire's Legion out of Skyrim had taken more time than he thought. His newly instated Jarls faced many troubles in their holts, and there had been so many lawsuits and executions... Many good men and women had lost their lives over wrongly placed loyalties. He hoped that such matters would finally settle, now that he officially held the position of High King. Only then, the borders could be properly guarded.

His musings were disturbed by the high and childlike laughing of Elisif. The young Jarl of Haaringar was obviously drunk, her cheeks rosy of the spiced wine she had brought with her. She was sitting to his right side, chatting with a Thane he didn't know, probably from Falkreath or The Reach. Her steward sat next to her, shooting a nervous glance at her and her surroundings now and again.

 _If not for this Falk Firebeard_ , Ulfric thought, _Solitude would be nothing more than a pile of rocks by now._ Maybe he should still replace Elisif with somebody more suitable for the position. Maybe Firebeard was up for a promotion.

He put that thought away and looked through the hall, scanning both familiar and unfamiliar faces until his eyes finally found the person he was searching. She was sitting in the middle of the table, next to the man he assumed was her husband and her young daughter, a Windhelm orphan. He had already spotted her during the ceremony, standing among the crowd. Her simple attire had stood out among the rich dresses and jewelry of the other guests. He had locked on her piercing gaze, trying to find some sign of approval. It had bothered him more than he liked to admit that he had not found what he was looking for.

He wondered why he needed her approval so much. Off all people that had gathered, she held little political influence. Merely an orphan from Windhelm, as she had once told him, just like the young girl she adopted as her child. Came to find her luck in the land of her birth.

The great hero of Skyrim, as she was seen as now. She had aided him in his conquest, after slaying the dragon known as the World-Eater. Why then, would she not agree with him sitting on the throne?

"Lighten up a little, will ya'," Galmar huffed on his left, busy with devouring his sixth roasted rabbit leg. "It's your coronation. All that we have fought for is accomplished."

Ulfric sighed, and stared at the food that was on his plate. "Have we really accomplished what we fought for, Galmar? Reports still come in of Legionnaires, raiding our citizens south of Falkreath. Our borders are not secure. How am I to know if Thalmor spies are entering Skyrim right now, or worse, if their armies are gathering on our doorstep? How am I to know that the men and women here will not sell us out to the Empire behind our backs?"

His oldest and most loyal friend let out a disgruntled 'hmph'. "Do not let those worries bother you tonight. Tonight is for us. Tonight we live and tomorrow our friends in Sovngarde might await us."

Ulfric sighed. "You think in straight lines, my friend. It suits you. But I am the High King now. The time for warrior-thoughts is over."

"Hmph!" Galmar reached for the roasted rabbit legs again. "Drink some mead. Celebrate. Worry about governing tomorrow. That's all I'll say."

 _Maybe he is right_ Ulfric though as he reached for the bottle of mead that was close by. He poured himself and Galmar a cup and held it up. "To our friends in Sovngarde then."

Galmar grinned, dropped the half-eaten rabbit leg and smashed his cup against Ulfric's. "Our friends in Sovngarde!"

The piercing blue eyes of the Dragonborn met his as Ulfric took his first sip. He did not know why he looked away.

It had become night so quickly. Ulfric stood by the fire, warming his hands. Most of the guests were gone, either to their chambers in the Palace or to their rooms in Candlehearth hall. Galmar had gone off with a servant-girl, drunk and proclaiming he would give her a son. Jarl Dengeir was the last one at the high table, drinking mead and listing his enemies to his housecarl, who looked like he was about to topple over from fatigue. A group of Stormcloack soldiers sat in a corner singing drunken songs off the war. Even the bards were gone.

"High King Ulfric."

He had known she was there before she spoke. He had even known it was her. He turned his head and looked into those piercing blue eyes again.

"Dragonborn."

She stepped next to him and also started warming her hands. "Why not just Thura Stormblade? After all, it was you who gave me that name."

No emotion nor any trace of mead or wine could be traced in her voice or found in her face. Her stand was as strong as it always was.

"You deserve more honour than that."

She shot him a glance, before she turned her attention to the fire again. "My gratitude, High King."

The silence between them could pierce the nights sky. He did not know what to say to her. He had not seen her since the battle, when she had stood bloodied and weary next to him as he delivered his speech to his soldiers. She had asked him not to mention her by name, but she had stood there, with him and Galmar Stone-Fist, the fire of a dragon burning behind her eyes…

He shook his head slightly, and looked at her. "We haven't had word from you since the battle. I assume everything is well with you and your family?"

She looked back, and smiled slightly. "They are well. We have moved to my manor close to lake Ilinalta, in Falkreath."

"Falkreath?" He asked, surprised. "We have had many troublesome reports from Falkreath. Seems that the remains of the Legion can't leave that region alone."

She shrugged. "Trouble can be found anywhere. We have trust in your armies. And Sofie likes it there."

 _Trust in my armies_ , he thought bitterly. _Does she know that the southern holt is guarded by less than a hundred men and governed by a senile old goat who keeps sending me word that he spotted the Thalmor in his bedroom_? He scanned her face, searching for an answer to the question he asked himself, but could not find anything. "Sofie would be your daughter?" he asked, instead of asking the question that was on his mind.

"She is." She wiped some loose hair from her forehead. "A strong one, she is. I saved her from the streets of this city. Funny how history seems to repeat itself." She turned her gaze back to him. "I never understood why the Arentino boy was sent to Honorhall, yet the orphan daughter of one of your soldiers was left to starve or freeze to death right under your nose."

Her words were sharp as knives, as always. He found himself shrinking a bit, trying to find a reason for not taking proper care of his citizens. "Jorleif… oversaw everything in the city. It must have slipped," he muttered, more to the fire than to her. "Not that that's an excuse," he immediately added when he saw her face darkening. "Please bring the girl to me, one of these days. I would like to apologise to her personally. If you intend to stay in Windhelm for a while, that is."

"We do intend to stay a couple of days," she answered, after a short silence. "I shall ask her. I think she would like to meet you. As would Jon."

The fire was starting to die out. The servants were not tending it anymore, instead busy with clearing the tables. The Dragonborn shivered, and pulled her coat closely around her. It was only now that he saw that her attire was not as simple as it had first looked. Both the hood and the sleeves of the long blue coat were lined with white fur, and rich white embroidery covered the left sleeve. A pattern of two dragons, fighting each other in the sky. Her hair was done up with braids, and a piece of dragon scale hang as jewelry around her neck.

 _More than a dragon slayer now,_ Ulfric thought to himself. _She has become a dragon herself._

He grabbed a log from the basket of wood that stood next to the hearth and threw it on the fire. He might be king now, but he was still able to tend his own fire. As he watched the flames curl over the wood, he contemplated the name she named last. That name must belong to her husband. He thought there had been something familiar in the face of the man he had seen sitting next to her at the table.

"'Jon' would be Jon of clan Battle-Born then. Your husband? I think I have heard of your marriage within that most loyal family".

He hadn't meant to sound so bitter. The betrayal of one of Skyrim's oldest families went deeper than he thought. She caught on to it though, and something within her stiffened.

"That is not something you can hold against him, Ulfric Stormcloack. He shed that name and proclaimed his loyalty to your cause, before the battle of Whiterun even. None of us choose the house we are born in. Both of us, of all people, should know and realise that."

Ulfric took a breath, ready to answer her with anger, until he looked at her and saw the look on her face, a look of sadness and even bitterness. He released his breath and felt the rouse of anger vanishing. So she had not forgotten the night of heavy drinking after one of the many battles they had fought, the night he had been drunk and had cursed his father and his heritage for putting him on the path that he had followed to the end now. It was the first time she had shared with him, her feelings, something of her past. They had been like shieldbrother- and sister at that time, not with the distance he felt between them now.

Silence, again. Just the two of them, with heavy hearts of all the trouble they had been through, staring into the fire that was starting up again.

She was the one that broke the silence. "It's late, my King. I shall rest now. I bid you a good night."

When he didn't answer her, she turned around to leave. Ulfric cursed himself now, not knowing what it was that made the coldness between them exist. He turned himself, watching her as she started to walk towards the end of the hall, towards the big doors that opened to the rest of the world.

"Wait, Thura Stormblade."

She stopped in her tracks and turned towards him again. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she looked at him, a contemplating look upon her now as she waited for what he had to say.

He moved towards her and for the first time this day really looked her in the eye. "Let's not end on animosity. Tonight is a good night. After all that has happened and all that you and I have done, I wish for peace in Skyrim. I wish for peace for you. You have done all of the people in this world good, both by aiding our cause and by slaying the mighty Alduin. It has been a long road that we travelled, that you travelled, filled with dragons and perils, but it has ended now. Our troubles have ended. Let everything be good."

She answered his gaze with a chuckle, her head slightly cocking to the left. "The end of trouble you call it?" The look of amusement left her face. "Ulfric Stormcloack, High King of Skyrim… This is not yet the end. This is only the beginning."

She turned around and left the hall, leaving him alone to contemplate on her last words.

 _A/N this is the start of my first ever fanfiction, so hey there, new beginner here :) Also, I'm not a native english speaker so I hope there are not too many grammar mistakes. Please feel free to point them out! And thanks for reading!_


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